


The Plan

by scarletjedi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fisting, M/M, Qui-Gon Lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 15:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12460698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletjedi/pseuds/scarletjedi
Summary: After the war, Qui-Gon has a welcome surprise for Obi-Wan





	The Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kettish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kettish/gifts).



The war was over. 

The Republic remained, battered and bleeding but unified once more. It would be decades if not centuries before the wounds of the conflict would fully heal. 

But they _would_ heal, thanks to the bravery of Anakin Skywalker, the Hero with No Fear, who uncovered the terrible secret of ex-chancellor Palpatine, and dispatched with the Master of the Sith.

Nobody knew the details of that fateful battle — not Obi-Wan, his brother, nor Qui-Gon, his Master. 

Anakin had walked from the chamber, bloodied and limping, to find both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon with Mace and Kit and Plo, and said two things: “It’s done,” and “I quit.” Then, he handed over his lightsaber. 

With a final nod, he limped away, into the waiting arms of Senator Amidala, now clearly very pregnant. The twins were born only a few days later, a young son, Luke, and daughter, Leia, and the new family was quite healthy and quite happy. They had Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon over for dinner at least once a week. 

(Fatherhood was good for Anakin, Obi-Wan could readily admit. His smiles were brighter, and came more easily. The twins were growing stronger each day, and already have their uncles wrapped around their newborn fingers.)

Young senator Mon Mothma was elected acting chancellor, proposed by Bail for her cool determination and savvy thinking. That she was about as far as one could get from Palpatine certainly didn’t hurt. Bail and Padme, when she could be pulled away from her children, were campaigning to make it permanent. It looked likely. 

What all of this meant, of course, was that, for the first time in years, Obi-Wan’s birthday fell during a time of peace, with no missions or campaigns or sieges to distract them. Qui-Gon was finally given time to prepare. 

The question of a gift was always difficult one. Obi-Wan didn’t cling to to possessions, and age had pulled him from hobbies that would leave a physical reminder — no more model ships or planetary systems. His — their — quarters were filed with plants, and Qui-Gon had considered adding to their number, but that would be as much for him as for Obi-Wan. This year especially, Qui-Gon wanted Obi-Wan to have something for himself alone. 

So, Qui-Gon had chosen a public consumable — a rarer blend of red tea that Obi-Wan favored that was just now making its way back to Coruscant in markets quick to recover from wartime sanctions — and a private plan. 

A plan that began with instructions to take a bath, a rare, relaxing water soak, and to clean himself. *Thoroughly*

Obi-Wan had gone quite pink at that. It was necessity that bothered Qui-Gon very little, but still offended Obi-Wan’s sensibilities, though not his interest or his ardor. So, after sitting with Obi-Wan while he soaked, teasing himself with brief glimpses of pale skin through the cloud-like bubbles that floated on the water, Qui-Gon removed himself to their bedroom. Loosely wrapped in bathing robe with his hair tied up and back, he quickly prepared the room. 

The bed had earlier been stripped to clean sheets, but now he spread out a large, fluffy towel. On the nightstand, Qui-Gon lit the candles, purchased from the free markets as well and scented of the moon-flowers that grew on Yavin 4, and placed the lube to warm. It was a specialty blend, one of the many that came from the war’s illicit bathtub-bacta market, now turning a neat profit to help fund the trooper’s transition to civilian life. Carefully grown to both ease pain, reduce strain, and leave the “patient” with a mild euphoria — it was immensely popular with a specific crowd. 

A crowd to which Obi-Wan was, apparently, one. 

They had fallen into bed together quite suddenly at the outset of the war, in an eruption of passion that — for all that it was a long time coming — had still taken Qui-Gon by surprise. Their first few trysts were frenzied in their coupling, desperate to get the most out of what little time they might have — but even then, a pattern had began to emerge. 

When Qui-Gon insisted on a fourth finger to prep—

When Obi-Wan insisted he was “ready, damn you” after two—

The way he would howl when Qui-Gon thrust into him, prepped just loose enough to not tear, but tight enough to feel every inch of it. —

The way Obi-Wan would squeeze, his eyes rolled back, as Qui-Gon filled him again and again — 

Qui-Gon placed the last item — a long latex medical glove — across the towel, and sat to wait, his heart hammering. 

_What if he was wrong._

He knew Obi-Wan well, but their history had never been one of perfect understanding. Qui-Gon didn’t _think_ he was wrong, but the nagging _what if_ wouldn’t fade. 

In the end, he didn’t have to wait long, as Obi-Wan — damp hair curling and fair skin flushed pink and fully on display — walked from the fresher. He stopped, eyes going wide, as he took in the scene before him. 

“Happy Birthday, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said softly, and gestured a hand towards the set up. “I thought perhaps, this may be something you’d enjoy, but — we have not talked, and we do not have to —”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, quick and breathless, and Qui-Gon quieted, his heart now hammering for another reason entirely. “I — yes, please.” 

“Then, my Obi, come here,” Qui-Gon stood and held open his arms, and Obi-Wan stepped into them, warm and pliant and kissing eagerly.

Gently guiding, Qui-Gon lay Obi-Wan down on the bed. Obi-Wan went slowly, drawing out his kisses and tugging the tie to Qui-Gon’s robe free. The two sides slipped open, letting in both a breath of cool air and the warmth of Obi-Wan’s skin. “How do you want me?” He asked against Qui-Gon’s mouth. 

Qui-Gon hummed. “Comfortable,” he said. 

Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes, a smile teasing about his lips nearly hidden by his beard (it was a good look, and Qui-Gon watched Obi-Wan’s eyes darken as he was blatant about his appreciation). Grabbing a pillow from the head of the bed, Obi-Wan tucked it under himself as he curled around it. 

Qui-Gon s smoothed his hand over Obi-Wan’s flank, and smiled. The position elevated Obi-Wan’s hips, presenting Qui-Gon with an incredible view. 

Reaching out, Qui-Gon called the warmed bacta lube to his hand, the cap unscrewing as it traveled through the air. It fell carelessly to the bed as Qui-Gon caught the tub, scooping a generous amount onto his fingers and pressing them to Obi-Wan’s puckered ring

Obi-Wan spread his legs wider, pushing back against Qui-Gon’s fingers, and Qui-Gon smoothed his hand over Obi-Wan’s side, soothing, sending a tendril of _patience_ through the Force. Obi-Wan grunted, a faint _fuck patience_ curling back through to him, and Qui-Gon chuckled softly. 

Slowly,he eased in with his first finger, watching raptly as the digit disappeared inside Obi-Wan’s tight heat, moving as quickly as he dared, spreading the lube as he went. Obi-Wan shifted, moaning low in his throat as Qui-Gon moved his finger, thrusting oh so slowly. 

Obi-Wan really was a very vocal lover — always had been, even when they had been in no position to make noise. The desperation in Obi-Wan’s eyes over the tight grip of Qui-Gon’s hand over his mouth as he stroked them quickly to completion, hidden from prying eyes by only a loose curtain that rippled in the breeze — the memory was more than enough to raise Qui-Gon’s temperature. 

"You don't have to wait," Obi-Wan said, his voice slow and thick already. "I can take it.”

_So responsive. Still!_

"You will,” Qui-Gon agreed, but did not increase the pace of his hand. Obi-Wan whined, hanging his head, and Qui-Gon chuckled at his lover’s impatience.

Still, Obi-Wan _was_ loosening quickly. Now that they had a (relative) guarantee of privacy, Qui-Gon was more than willing to play with Obi-Wan as often as the man would like — which was often. So, Qui-Gon gave in and added a second finger, grinning as the pitch of Obi-Wan's cries deepened. 

Once Obi-Wan was making noise near constantly, Qui-Gon pulled back, wiping his fingers on the towel as Obi-Wan twisted to look at Qui-Gon in complaint.

"No, why —” 

"Shh, my love,” Qui-Gon murmured, “Soon,” as he picked up the smooth glove from where it lay. "I will not rush to hurt you."

Obi-Wan seemed to think about that for a moment. “Even if I beg?”

Something hot buried itself in Qui-Gon’s gut. "Even if,” he rasped, and with his first three fingers now coated with lube, sunk them all at once, drawing a cry of delighted surprise. In a tender contrast to the stretch that had to burn, Qui-Gon placed a kiss on the small of Obi-Wan’s back.

"Oh, you son of a —” 

Qui-Gon grinned, curling his fingers again as he thrust. Obi-Wan was beyond words, moaning sharp, breathless cries with every thrust until Qui-Gon sunk deep and still. Obi-Wan's moan broke off of the breathless laughter even as he writhed, fucking himself back against Qui-Gon’s hand. “Qui-Gon, you bastard.”

Qui-Gon hummed laugh. "Rollover, my love.”

After a moment, Obi-Wan nodded and Qui-Gon carefully pulled his fingers free. Gently, Qui-Gon helped Obi-Wan roll to his back, arranging the pillow to now tilt his hips up, his legs splayed wide. He was a vision: face flushed and eyes wide and wet-looking, as if he had been brought to tears. That same flush spread like wine down his neck and over his chest, as if pointing to his cock where it curved a hard line over his belly, red and weeping.

"You're doing so well, Qui-Gon said, his three fingers easily returning to that tight heat.

Obi-Wan fisted his hands in the sheet, his back arching. "Please,” he said, voice a whisper so faint, Qui-Gon wasn’t sure Obi-Wan knew he had spoken, and Qui-Gon placed his palm flat on Obi-Wan's belly. It wouldn't be the first time they had gone up to four fingers, and every other time it had been what finally sent Obi-Wan over the edge. 

Honestly, as far gone as Obi-Wan looked, this may be no different. 

The thought of having to do this again, and again, to get Obi-Wan accustomed enough to work up to that full fist was a very tempting thought, and Qui-Gon let himself picture, for a moment, an image of Obi-Wan, tied and crying as he was brought to orgasm yet again, still not quite able to take that fourth finger long enough — and from the way Obi-Wan’s breath hitched, Qui-Gon wasn’t shielding very well. 

“Maybe next time,” Qui-Gon offered, because this wasn’t an unforseen situation. 

Qui-Gon had a plan.

He pulled back, curling his palm and adding that fourth finger.

Obi-Wan keened, his hand reaching down to grab himself, squeezing his cock and stroking without rhythm, unconsciously desperate.

"No,” Qui-Gon said sharply, pulling Obi-Wan’s hand away with the force, pinning both wrists to the bed.

Obi-Wan wailed, cock twitching as he came messily all over his chest, untouched. Qui-Gon felt it echo through their bond, his own desire pulsing deep in his own belly as Obi-Wan fluttered and squeezed around his fingers, but this was not about him. He slowed, but didn't stop moving, drying out the sensations until Obi-Wan was panting his passions anew.

"Qio-Gon –" Obi-Wan pleaded mindless. "Gods, Qui –

"You are lovely,” Qui-Gon said. "Are you ready?

It took a moment. Qbi-Wan didn’t often come more than once, but he nodded. "Yes, please, Qui, fill me up, _please._ ” Qui-Gon growled, tucking his thumb and slowly, so _fucking_ slowly, pushed past Obi-Wan's red stretched ring until it closed around his wrist.

Obi-Wan arched, eyes unseeing, his mouth wide as he painted. 

"Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon breathed, mesmerized by the sight. Sliding his free hand down, he pressed his thumb to that sensitive spot just behind Obi-Wan’s sac.

The sound Obi-Wan made was strained and broken, lost in the pleasure, his senses overwhelmed. The air around them writhed, pulsing in time with Obi-Wan’s pleasure as Qui-Gon slowly begin to curl his fist.

"Oh! Oh!” Obi-Wan whimpered. His cock was flushed very dark, fully hard again after never truly being allowed to soften, and Qui-Gon thrust.

Obi-Wan screamed, the sound hoarse and cracking, the lights flickering as the Force pulsed around them. Qui-Gon cried out, falling forward onto his free hand has orgasm was pulled from him and he came, trembling.

Finally, the air stilled and Qui-Gon’s awareness returned. Obi-Wan’s was trembling as Qui-Gon slowly pulled his hand free, and shivered as Qui-Gon quickly pulled the glove from his arm. Letting go of a Obi-Wan’s wrists, Qui-Gon wrapped him in his arms. 

Obi-Wan curled into him, clinging blindly as he kissed whatever skin came to reach. Qui-Gon ducked his head, and met Obi-Wan’s lips in a sweet kiss.

One hand reached up to run his fingers through Obi-Wan's hair. "Did you enjoy your present, love?” Qui-Gon asked, quiet.

Obi-Wan hummed. "Oh, yes, love,” he said, his words slurred as if drunk.

“You sound it,” Qui-Gon said, smiling. "How do you feel?

Obi-Wan stretched, trembling slightly but never pulling away. "Yes."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "You feel yes?

"MmHmm.” Obi-Wan waved his hand lazily and the towel was stripped from the bed, the blanket flying over them both. Qui-Gon gestured, and the lights faded away. 

"Happy birthday, my Obi."


End file.
